


Messages in the TARDIS

by mm8



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post Episode: s01e08 Father's Day, the doctor and rose are idiots about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had to tell her before it was too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messages in the TARDIS

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beneathmyfeet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beneathmyfeet/gifts).



It was late. Rose had gone to bed nearly five hours ago and he hoped that there wouldn't be an opportunity for an interruption. The incident with her father had left her rather exhausted, but one never knew when nightmares could take over. 

He would chance it. This was too important. Rose had to know. 

After today, after all they had been through recently… After being foolish and taking on yet another companion. He needed this. The Doctor had to have some sort of an emergency system in place in case… in case…

The Doctor tensed his body as he leaned over the TARDIS' console. The Time Lord preferred not to think of the negative. What if Rose accidently operated the TARDIS and was sent careening into the vortex while he wasn't on board. Rose getting severally injured while they fought a monster like an Auton or a Siltheen. 

Or worse. His own demise. The Doctor shivered. He had to dwell on the negative. If he didn't, if he wasn't prepared, what would that mean for them? What kind of a soldier would that make him? The Doctor clenched his teeth and punched the console, muttering an apology as soon as he did it. The Time Lord had to stop thinking like that. He was no longer a mindless soldier. The war was over and all of his people were dead. End of story.

And besides, he should have done this the first night she had run into his ship. He was so stupid. 

He had to relax if he was going to do this right. He had to be all smiles and air of confidence in the messages. The Doctor stood up straight and rolled his shoulders back. He jiggled about a bit, dancing to an old Gallifreyan tune that was in his head. The song was about renewal. After a lover lost and beginning life anew. It was a very upbeat and catchy song. It had been one of his favorites as a child at the Academy. He and Koschei would mime singing with microphones while jumping on their beds. 

He hadn't realized that the TARDIS was playing the music through her speakers all around him at a low volume. "Thank you," he spoke to his ship. He gently patted the console and the TARDIS lights dimmed. 

He had work to do. The Doctor took his place in front of the console directly facing the door, where he pictured Rose would be. And if she wasn't there, she could always move to face him. He instructed the TARDIS to begin the recording. "This is Emergency Program One. Rose, now listen. This is important—"

Once he had finished that one he was emotionally drained. But he had several more messages to record tonight before Rose woke up in the morning. 

He took a sip of water from a glass that was sitting on the floor nearby his feet. His throat felt rather dry after recording the first message three times through to get it just right. 

The next message about be important too, although he dearly wished he didn't have to record it. What if he regenerated? It wasn't entirely out of the question since he had done this in front of many companions before. And sometimes, he had temporary amnesia as a side effect from the regeneration. Rose would be an necessity to his recovery and getting settled into his new body. The Doctor needed Rose to know just how alien he was. 

He took his spot in facing the door and began to ramble, "This is Emergency Program Two. Rose, you might have noticed that I'm not exactly _me_ anymore. There should have been some," he struggled to describe regeneration energy on her level. "Explode-y gold stuff coming from my body and then _he_ appeared." The Time Lord gestured off in a direction to where he figured he'd be standing. "That's me, Rose. I know he doesn't look like me, but it's me. I'm sorry I never told you. I was too chicken. I thought if you knew me, all of me, you wouldn't—" he gulped and stared down at his boots. The Doctor didn't want to finish that sentence. He couldn't dare hope that Rose returned his feelings, despite their kisses and sharing a bed at night. 

"I may look human, Rose, but I'm a Time Lord. When we are on the brink of death, our bodies regenerate. Our cells reform and we turn into someone else. I'm still the Doctor," he tried to hit home. "But I look different. It's all Time Lord science. An evolutionary trick. I'm going to need you now more than ever, Rose. Sometimes, regenerations can go wrong. There can be a side effect of amnesia. It's only temporary," he assured her. "But for a few days, I might not know who you are or who I am even. And he's going to need you, Rose Tyler. I do need you. Because he's the Doctor. And I know how he feels about you. Please, just please be patient with me. I don't know what kind of man I am about to become. And I am going to need you to guide me. Rose Tyler—"

The Doctor stopped short, his mouth hanging open and his face red. "You didn't record any of that, did you?"

The TARDIS' lights blinked twice. 

He shook his head and threw up his arms. "Fantastic." The Doctor walked around the console muttering to himself. He was such an idiot. It only took one simple command to begin the recording process and had he done it? No. He just plunged ahead. Again. Now he wasted time and would have to do it all over again. Idiot. 

He stopped when he heard the footfalls on the lone staircase that led to the console room. Soon enough, Rose appeared at the bottom of the stairs, clad in loose pajama bottoms and a frilly bra. Rose's hair was askew and her mascara had run down her cheeks. Her bare toes wiggled on the cold floor. The Doctor felt a lump in his throat. She was beautiful. 

"I woke up and you weren't there," she said so simply. She held out her hand. "Come back to bed."

The Doctor stared at her hand. It was so small, so frail, so _human_. And he wanted what Rose offered. He wanted it _all_.

The Doctor placed his larger hand into Rose's smaller one and followed her up the stairs.

The messages could wait.


End file.
